


Old Tricks

by methlabs



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas, old world blues - Fandom
Genre: AU: Synth Tank, Background Relationships, Established Relationship, Exposition, Institute (fallout), Old World Blues DLC, Other, Think Tank (Fallout), i guess, once its written, smut will be posted in next chapter, will update the tags for that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 16:14:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14719415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methlabs/pseuds/methlabs
Summary: A (likely) two-part, self-indulgent fic from the Synth Tank AU I'm developing, revolving around the Think Tank's acoustic engineer and my fresh new OC Bass.Rating and tags subject to change once second chapter is posted.





	Old Tricks

**Author's Note:**

> this is a mess but a mess i'm remotely proud of, feat. a sorta cameo of tumblr user sciienc's courier Key :3

Being shoved into a fresh new body meant getting readjusted to a fresh new set of senses and motor functions. Unfortunately, this equated to a long and agonisingly uncomfortable first few weeks for the Big MT executives.

Bass, it seemed to Doctor 8, was even more keen on him finishing his motor therapy than  _ he  _ was. In the first week, they accompanied him to all of his sessions, and volunteered to attend to his physical and hygienic demands in the stead of a synth carer. As uncomfortable as it made him physically, 8 couldn’t protest the intimacy it granted to two of them. He found it cute the way they fussed over and insisted on pampering him. Bubbles mysteriously appeared in his baths, and every meal was an improvised version of one of his favourite pre-war dishes.

And it wasn’t enough for them to spend every waking hour with him; every night, Bass slept next to him in his assigned room, despite their own being two doors down the hall. They were thoughtful enough to stick to one side of the bed, as skin contact still felt somewhat raw to 8, but he appreciated their presence and warmth all the same. Eventually, cuddles were fine and 8 soon found that Bass’ arms were really the only place he wanted to be when they were together. After the first couple of weeks, he noticed this was also the case with 0 and Key. Admittedly, 8 wasn’t surprised at how touch-starved he and 0 were--none of them had come remotely close to human affection for the last two-hundred or so years. He often wondered how Dala was coping--not that he would bring it up at this point, lest he essentially offer himself to her. He was very grateful to have Bass by his side, aiding so actively in his reconditioning in rejoining the human race (as close as science would allow).

Eventually, once he was able to function independently, 8 managed to convince Bass to spend some time away from him, if only for the sake of their own social health. Every so often, they would meet with Key, likely to discuss the condition of their respective partners and other general ‘thought kicking’, as 0 described it.

On these occasions, 8 would often clean and rearrange his room, sometimes extending his tidying to Bass’ mostly unused quarters. If he found that Bass was out much longer than it took for him to alphabetise their holotapes or such, he would tinker or make music with the devices the Institute provided him. More embarrassingly, he would sometimes rediscover some of the stranger physical abilities of his body. In one day, he found he could wiggle his ears  _ and _ fold his tongue. (He was even prouder to discover one day over lunch that neither Klein nor Borous could do either of these things. He almost hurt himself laughing at Klein’s impassioned attempts at both). It was during these increasingly frequent times alone, however, that 8 rediscovered some older, though not all welcome sensations.

Anxiety was one. Sometimes Bass would go out and 8 would feel the most dreadful fear in the pit of his stomach. It was the fear that they had got sick of him and left for good, or that they may be lost somewhere in the new and unfamiliar Commonwealth and never return. This sort of feeling was irrational, 8 knew, and he found no purpose in it aside from the universe perhaps just wanting him to feel horrible.

But there were also good ones. The little flutter 8 felt in his heart when Bass sang to him and touched his face and kissed him. It was there at night and he would cry about his old world blues and they would hold him and listen and tell him they were glad he was in  _ their _ world. It was love, Bass told him. And they felt it with him too.

There was another feeling, something 8 knew was far more primal than the first two. He had felt it, only slightly, when Bass had first dared to kiss him. Sometimes, like during these kisses, it was simply a feeling of what he could only describe as a darker love, laced with  _ I want you _ as well as  _ I love you _ . And usually, it felt good. Really good. But it was the other times--the ones where he found himself locked in the bathroom, painfully hard and not knowing what to do--those were the times that worried him.

This was one of those times.


End file.
